Will O’ the Wisp Read Free Page B

Fordyce. “That’s the modern way of talking. It’s very convenient, my dear—h’m—no doubt.” She put up her hand and coughed again. “You’ve all got such deep feelings that you don’t require what used to be considered decent observance. H’m—no—that’s not required. But there’s this to be said for the old way: all the world can see a black dress. They can’t see your thoughts, and I’d be very greatly surprised if you’d want them to.”
    Eleanor’s colour rose in the bright carnation of her girlhood, and Mrs. Fordyce gave an odd short laugh.
    â€œSo you went into Kashmir? I used to read ‘Lalla Rookh.’ And your father—yes, it was your father—he had a nice tenor voice when he was a young man, and your mother played his accompaniments. He was very fond of that song about Kashmir in the days when everyone spelt it with a C, and we called our shawls Cashmeres, even when they came from Paris. The Empress Eugénie set the fashion—no, it was Queen Victoria who always gave one as a wedding present.” She drummed with her fingers and hummed in a deep, cracked whisper: “‘I’ll sing thee songs of Araby, and tales of fair Cashmere.’ And now, I suppose, you’re going to settle down. How many years were you in India?”
    â€œSix years.” The words fell as something falls from a tired hand.
    â€œIt’s a long time to be out of your own country. You weren’t in a hurry to get back. You’ve been staying in Paris, haven’t you?”
    â€œIn Florence first, with Amy Barton, and then with an old schoolfellow in Paris. She’s an artist.”
    â€œYou’d better settle down. You’re not left badly off?”
    Eleanor’s colour ebbed.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThat’s something. You must settle down. You will find some changes. Perhaps you’ll like them. Most people seem to like change nowadays. I can’t say I care for it myself.” She paused, and added dryly: “Frank Alderey’s married.”
    â€œYes, I want to meet her.”
    â€œH’m! There’s not so very much of her to meet. Her clothes oughtn’t to cost Frank much; hut it seems the less stuff there is in a thing, the more you pay for it. H’m!” Her tone became drier still. “David isn’t married. It’s time he was thinking about it. The longer people wait, the worse fools they make of themselves as a rule. Of course, he has his affairs”—there was a little scornful glitter in the hard blue eyes—“but they don’t come to anything. Two years ago, now, there was a friend of Betty’s—a good-looking girl, rather like you, my dear, before you lost your colour. H’m! I can’t say India’s improved you.” She gave the little short laugh which was so like a cough, and flicked at her nose with six inches of point-de-Venise set round a bit of lawn the size of a half-crown. “Well, it didn’t come to anything—it never seems to come to anything with David. And there was a girl with red hair before that—red hair and a temper, if I’m not very much mistaken. That didn’t come to anything either. I suppose there’s some entanglement.”
    Eleanor refused the challenge. She sat with her gloved hands upon her knees; they clasped one another lightly. Mrs. Fordyce looked at them. She always looked at a victim’s hands. She had, before now, found them betray what eyes and mouth kept hidden. Eleanor’s hands told her nothing; Eleanor’s face, quiet, smiling, and a little sad, told her nothing either. She put up her hand with the crowded, crooked rings and yawned.
    Miss Mary was at Eleanor’s side in a moment.
    â€œI think, my dear, if you don’t mind, perhaps Grandmamma has talked enough.”
    Eleanor stood up thankfully. That scorching fire at her back, and